The Clock Strikes Twelve
by A Twisted Fairytale
Summary: A dream is a wish your heart makes, no matter how twisted your heart may be.


**The Clock Strikes Twelve**

_Once upon a time in a faraway land…_

A blond boy awoke from restless slumber.

He never liked the dark.

It created disturbing shadows, concealed the dangerous creatures from plain sight, and put emphasis on all that was corrupt in the world. It brought up horrifying memories of a past he didn't want to remember.

This was why he always slept with candles burning all night long.

There were candlesticks lit on his nightstand and in the brackets on the walls. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, even though it was the season of summer. He'd rather suffer through the heat than face that dark blindness that accompanied nighttime.

The blonde boy shifted, tossing and turning to get more comfortable. He pulled the sheets up around him, yet five minutes later he was throwing them off in a childish fit because he was too warm. His eyes stayed focused on the ceiling, tracing the cracks and lines in lieu of the traditional counting sheep exercise.

Though no matter what, he couldn't keep the dark images away. That of all those dead people in the village, his friend lying helpless on the ground, and oh, he could still smell that horrible stench of death…

And his father. He could still _feel _him, inside and outside, using his body like he was some toy. The bruises have long since faded from his skin, yet to Alois, they still remained as colorful as they did after each time his father came home and dragged the silently screaming boy to his bed. The silently screaming boy who long since learned not to struggle, as it only caused more pain in the end.

He was dirty. Just like he would always be. A dirty -nasty, foul, horrid- little human being. He would not ever be wanted.

Only his father had wanted him.

But now his father was dead. Bathed in his own blood, he had struggled and screamed, crying out for help. However, Alois only watched, clapping his hands excitedly and his eyes filling with twisted amusement, as the tall golden-eyed man killed him. Painfully, slowly… as were the orders.

A shrill, high-pitched laugh bounced off the walls in his bedroom at the memory.

_"Come on, get up," you say, "Time to start another day."_

Life, he thought, was terribly boring.

Day after day… it was all the same.

Being a noble was so mundane- all meetings and business, with people he didn't know and certainly didn't like. They were all worthless creatures after his wealth, his title, his alliance.

They could all rot in Hell.

What did they see when they viewed him? A lost little boy, who needed pity? A successful person of class, who warranted pride and congratulations?

Or a soiled young man, like Sebastian had implied? Did they see through his mask of false happiness easily, like that traveler had?

He couldn't stand it when people looked at him- really looked at him, saw the boy underneath the mask. But he couldn't vent these frustrations on the people that came to visit him. Not physically, at least. One day they will all be dirty little humans like him he vowed, but for now, he was content to use other means as an outlet for his frustration.

And so Hannah lost an eye, and he smiled gleefully at the fact that Hannah was damaged, just like he was.

It was one less eye looking at him.

Life, he thought, could be made interesting.

_In dreams you will lose your heartaches.  
_

Another night, but it's always the same. Always the same fantasy, the same vision, that was so _real _he barely believed it was just a mere hallucination. For a few moments, he could pretend. He could play along. He could _feel._

He sat up in bed, and summoned Claude with a girlish voice, and he smiled when the butler entered.

"Love me," the boy whispered, his eyes soft and alluring.

It was terrifying being left alone, and for years it had just been him.

But now he had his own nefarious hero.

He wasn't like the others, who would look down on him with digust if they knew the unspeakable acts he had done. But Claude... he has seen everything, yet by his side he remains. Constantly faithful, and always there.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Clothes were discarded with wild abandon from Alois, and careful, precise movements from Claude. It made the younger boy impatient, and he shoved Claude's hands out the way. Lips and tongues melted together, and Alois had no inkling as to where one ended and the other started.

The boy moaned, _begged, _Claude to hurry. Stop the foreplay, he demanded. Just _want _me. Don't think. Just feel. Am I tempting? Do you want me?

Do you love me?

Claude responded by feverishly arousing touches, and it made the boy giddy. Alois didn't need the sweet, sappy words found in those cheap erotica novels he had read out of curiosity. His actions were enough of an answer.

Claude wasn't a talkative person, anyway.

He felt the demon's hands on him- on his chest, thighs, hips, _there. _And oh God, he wanted _more…_

So this is what it was supposed to feel like.

It was positively glorious.

It didn't hurt- his wonderful butler made sure of that. Only pleasure. He was quickly spiraling out of control, no longer mindful of his actions. Was that him moaning? Was that him pleading with Claude to go faster, deeper, to erase the memories…?

Yes, it certainly was.

And he reveled in it. For at the moment, while doing what some would consider a very horrific thing to do (With a butler? With another man? they would say), he felt _pure. _Clean. Unaware of his sullied life. There was only the white-hot pleasure, the soft light illuminating their frenzied movements on the huge bed, and Claude…

_His _Claude. His prince.

He came, crying out his butler's name, his body feeling like it was soaring, higher and higher and higher, dancing tendrils of fire caressing his body, his vision going white…

He then heard Claude groan, his name escaping from his always tight-lipped mouth. Alois, not Master. Not Your Highness. Alois. And it was said with so much emotion that it only made the younger boy feel as if at that moment, he was one of the luckiest people around.

Take that, you fools, he thought. I could be wanted, desired, loved… just like you.

_On the stroke of twelve, the spell will be broken, and everything will be as it was before._

Like all good things, they must come to an end.

Midnight crept upon the sleeping household, and the clock chimed loudly.

A blond boy awoke from restless slumber.

And the dream was no more.

_…but like all dreams, well, I'm afraid this can't last forever._

X.X

**A/N: **I wrote this for a prompt over on LJ, and decided to post it here.

I just love Alois. Not as much as Ciel (I'm such a Ciel fangirl. I'd pick -rape- him over Sebby any day XD) but I like him, nevertheless. I enjoy his bizarre mood swings and eye-poking. Especially the eye-poking- masters need to keep their bitches in line. Oh, Alois, you little pimp, you. But he makes me sad. He needs love. D:

Review, please?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the italicized sentences. Disney does.


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